


Spectacular

by ThirdGenerationRockette



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Voicemail Fic, post-1.07, s1 au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2019-03-16 00:31:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13624746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThirdGenerationRockette/pseuds/ThirdGenerationRockette
Summary: Heading for the kitchen, powered by a desperate and all-consuming need for coffee, her heart sinks as she sees she has two missed calls and a voicemail. She knows it's unlikely someone called for a friendly chat at...5.24am.





	1. Chapter 1

She has no recollection of turning her phone to silent, although given they were on air until almost 4am and by the time she made it home she was so exhausted she could barely think, her memory lapse comes as no surprise. The entire night was fuelled by adrenaline, bolstered by a jolt of panic everytime she looked at the monitor to be reminded she'd put a completely wasted Will on the air to break the biggest story in a long, long time. She knew he could do it, that wasn't the problem, the problem was that if anybody should find out...well, she was pretty sure that would be the end for both of them. She would probably find herself begging for a job even worse than the one she was about to take before Charlie showed up, and Will would...well, who knows what disastrous hour of shit Will could end up fronting.

Heading for the kitchen, powered by a desperate and all-consuming need for coffee, her heart sinks as she sees she has two missed calls and a voicemail. She knows it's unlikely someone called for a friendly chat at...5.24am. A slight wave of relief washes over her when she sees Will's name  
– he was as high as she's ever seen him, so the likelihood of him having called when he got home just to babble incoherently about nothing is a pretty good one. Flicking the coffee machine on, she reaches for a mug, leans back against the counter, and hits play.

“Hey Mac, it's me.” She can hear him smiling down the phone, the goofy grin she hasn't seen in years, the one she misses. “Look, I'm not just saying this because I'm high...I've never stopped loving you. You were spectacular tonight...can you believe we got Obama?”

She stares at the phone, struggling to believe what she just heard – wasted or not, that was quite the declaration. Until now, she had no idea that the ears and the brain could completely disconnect in the way hers clearly have. Logically, she knows what she just heard but she can't even begin to process it, so she reaches for the phone and plays the message again, and then again, and only after the fourth time can she manage to pull herself together enough to pour her coffee and make it to the table, still clutching the phone in her other hand. He's never stopped loving her. He's never stopped loving her? It may be true, but she knows too that even if it is he'd never have said it if he hadn't been high, regardless of his insistence at the start of the message. She thinks about the way she caught him looking at her across the room at the party, the way his eyes were fixed on her as he played the guitar, and then later in his office she remembers the gentle weight of his hands on her shoulders. She remembers the way he hugged her on Valentine's Day, how she closed her eyes, relaxed into his touch, and felt comfortable for the first time since he had last held her three years earlier.

She doesn't have a clue what the fuck she's supposed to do now? She has no idea if he'll remember leaving the message, or if he'll apologise, brush it off, tell her he doesn't recall what he said at all, or worse he'll tell her of course he was only saying it because he was high. Even if that is his reaction, it doesn't change the fact he said it, whether he tries to deny it or not. She doesn't know if she can bear to hear him take it back, to watch as he once again builds a wall between them, the look on his face she's become so painfully used to, the look that says he can't stand to be around her. She knows too that she can't just let it go, she has to talk to him, she has to tell him she got the message and that she still loves him too, always has. Surely he must know that, surely he knows she wouldn't have taken the job, wouldn't have put up with his resentment in the beginning if she didn't still love him? It hits her then, like a ton of bricks, that maybe he _doesn't_ know that, that maybe he thinks it was purely the job she came to New York for and that she was happy for them to be nothing more than colleagues, although God knows she isn't blessed with a poker face of any note, so he must know how she feels...right? She gulps her coffee down too fast, too hot, but she needs to shower and get dressed, she needs to head to the office and stand in front of him, to see his face when she tells him she got his message. Only looking into his eyes will tell her what she needs to know.

By the time the cab comes to a stop outside the ACN building her brain is screaming at her. In the space of just a few blocks she's decided he meant what he said, he didn't mean it all, she'll be fine whatever, of course she won't be fine if he takes it back, but above all, she really wishes she hadn't silenced her phone. She wonders what he would have said had she answered the call, if he would have gone as far as to tell her she was spectacular but held back on the rest, or if he was just the right level of high for his inhibitions to have been low enough to say exactly what he said in the message.

The newsroom is quiet and she makes it to her office with nothing more than a brief hello to Maggie, who looks as tired as she herself feels. She heads for the coffee machine on autopilot, aware that she's avoiding the conversation that an hour ago she was raring to have, because now she's here and he's just feet away in his office, the possibility of him taking his words back in the cold light of day is a very real one and she feels sick at the thought.

Taking her coffee with her (she can at least hurl it at him if this goes badly...when it's cooled a little, she's not a total monster), she heads out of her office and towards his, letting out a long breath before rapping lightly on the door and walking in, careful to close the door behind her.

“Jesus, Will, you look like hell.” Not how she planned to open, but shit, he really does.

“Good morning to you too.” He raises an eyebrow, which only serves to showcase his bloodshot eyes and slightly sheepish look.

“Did you get _any_ sleep?” she asks, determined not to dance around what she really wants to say, but somehow not quite as able to dive right in as she thought she was.

“Yeah, some, I guess.” He shrugs and she sees her opening.

“Well, you were awake later than I was, I know that much.” She steps closer to his desk and sits down in the chair opposite him. “Even though I also know you got home before I did.”

“Because you insisted on the world's craziest detour,” he says, glancing at her briefly before looking away and reaching for the coffee in front of him. “Seriously, Mac, from here to my place and then back to yours makes zero fucking sense, and I'm not sure Lonny had a clue what was happening.”

“Yeah, well, I'd already put you on air as high as a kite, the last thing I needed was for to decide you wanted to continue with the party.” She smirks, remembering how mellow he was when they arrived at his door, wondering what might have happened had she taken him up on his offer of a drink. “And there's nothing wrong with keeping your security detail on his toes, keeping him sharp.”

“How do you know I didn't head right back out the second you drove away?” He looks at her again and she sees it this time, the look she's seen only a few times since she came back, the look that makes her stomach flip over and gives her a glimmer of hope.

“Well, I suspect your doorman has been thoroughly briefed on not letting you saunter out of your building alone in the middle of the night, and besides, I have the evidence right here.” She holds her phone up and bites her lip before she goes on. “Unless you somehow managed to sweet talk both your doorman _and_ Lonny into heading back out and you made this call from the world's quietest bar.”

“Ah,” he says, his eyes again flitting from hers as he sighs.

“So...did you...I mean, were you...” She can't seem to string her thoughts together enough to form a sentence, and he's saying nothing, won't even look at her, so she takes a breath and pushes on. “ _Was_ it just because you were high?”

“I...I was pretty wasted last night, and then the show was so...” He pauses and she feels her glimmer of hope start to fade. This is it, he's about to backtrack, to blame it on the fucking cookies. “Shit, Mackenzie, the fucking show, you were-”

“Spectacular, yeah, I know,” she says, sounding more curt than she intends to, but needing suddenly to prepare herself for what is starting to feel like the inevitable. “I got that.”

“Can you believe we got Bin Laden?” He does look at her now and there's humour in his eyes, in the hint of a smirk on his face.

“I spent enough time out there, mostly in awe of what those troops were up against, that I actually can believe that. What I'm not quite sure I can believe is that you just got it first time there, Obama...” She raises an eyebrow but she can't match his humour because she still has no clue what's happening, she can't be sure whether he just rescinded his declaration or if he still has more to say. “I guess things seem much clearer this morning, right?”

“Tends to happen when exhaustion replaces the high,” he says, the sheepish look back in his eyes. “Mac, I-”

“It's fine, really, it's...I get it, it's...it was quite a night.” She stands up, figuring she may as well go and kick herself in the privacy of her own office rather than standing here making a total fool of herself. “So, I thought we could make things easy for ourselves tonight and do something of a wrap-up, some recapping from last night, a couple of interviews, I'm sure we can drag a few people in, we should run it by Charlie, and then I'll have the team make some calls-”

“Mackenzie.” His tone is sharp enough that she stops talking and looks back at him, unsure if he's about to tell her to shut up, to get out, or that he really does love her.

“What? You have a better idea?” she asks, aware once again of the harsh edge to her tone, suddenly eager to escape to her office and curse herself for her stupidity. “I'm open to ideas, but I just figure everyone is going to be exhausted today and this is a story people are going to be happy enough to see rehashed for a while, so we may as well capitalise on that. I doubt Charlie will object either because it certainly won't hurt the ratings, so-”

“Mackenzie.” Her name in full again, his tone this time slightly softer, enough to make her shut up and look into his eyes, sighing as she does.

“You've seen me high before and yeah, it relaxes me, lowers my inhibitions, sure,” he says, pausing for a second, his gaze following her hand as she reaches nervously to push her hair behind her ear, before his eyes meet hers again. “But it never, _ever_ makes me say anything I don't mean.”

“So, you were, I mean, you said...” She stumbles over her words again, pauses, takes a breath, starts again. “You've never stopped loving me?”

“I've never stopped loving you,” he says firmly, nodding, the look in his eyes so intense that she feels a flush in her cheeks and a smile creeping onto her lips. “I've loved you since the day I met you, I've never stopped, and I'm pretty fucking sure I never will.”

“You know, I had so little sleep last night I'm not entirely sure I'm not hallucinating right now.” She's teasing, she knows this is happening but there's still a part of her that can't quite believe it.

After everything they've been through, what she did to him, how she was so utterly convinced his hate for her was a commitment he'd made for life, he's sitting in front of her telling her he never stopped loving her, and it feels surreal, totally surreal. “I'm not...am I?”

“Hallucinating? No. You're not.” He stands up and walks around the desk, taking her phone out of her hand and holding it up in front of her before turning to put it down on the desk and take both of her hands in his. “I love you, I've never stopped, and I'm sorry for...fuck, for being a stubborn angry asshole for so long, and for not being able to find the balls to say it until I was wasted, and-”

“Billy.” She stops him, squeezing his hands as she does, smiling up at him. “I thought it was really obvious from the second I walked into ACN that I...that I still love you, but I don't know, maybe it wasn't-”

“It was. I knew that.” He shakes his head and smiles back at her. “I mean, I thought I knew, I was pretty sure you...I _hoped_ you still-”

“What a fucking night!” Charlie's voice startles her to the point where she actually jumps, her hands slipping from Will's almost automatically as she turns to see their boss standing in the doorway with a huge grin on his face and, remarkably, not a trace of tiredness in his eyes. “You were on fire last night, Will, on fucking _fire_! And _you_ , Mackenzie McHale, continue to prove me right every damn day, you were-”

“Spectacular.” Will cuts in and she looks back at him, replaying his message in her head all over again, hoping her grin doesn't look quite as dopey as she fears it does, only to instantly realise she doesn't really care.

“Exactly!” Charlie's grin grows wider and he steps into the office, shooting down her hopes of getting Will on his own again to finish their conversation. Although the part about each of them loving the other was covered already and that's the main thing, so fine, she can cope with Charlie's interruption for the moment. “Damn though, you look exhausted.”

“Me?” she asks, glancing up at Will, still pretty sure he looks a lot more tired than she does.

“Both of you.” Charlie steps closer and stares at her, then at Will, turning back to her with a smirk. “He looks worse though.”

“I know.” She returns the smirk, amused by the offended look on Will's face even though she knows he must be aware of exactly how tired he does look. “So...did you come in here just to tell us how awful we looked?”

“And to compliment you on the show last night, which I already did,” he says, grinning at them both again, clearly genuinely delighted with how the broadcast went. “Have you thought about tonight's show?”

“We were actually talking about that right before you walked in,” she says, catching Will's eye, the slight raise of his eyebrow.

“Among other things,” Will says, his gaze fixed so intently on her she has to remind herself that Charlie is in the room.

“Everything okay in here?” Charlie frowns, seemingly aware that something is different, and probably, understandably, jumping to the conclusion that a disagreement is the reason.

“Everything's fine.” She smiles at him, a real smile, one that feels happier than any she's smiled in a long time. “Great, actually.”

“Alright then...good.” Charlie seems satisfied even if his tone still holds a hint of curiosity. “So, we all had a long night last night, and I think we put out something we can squeeze plenty more life out of yet, so how would you feel about a show tonight that's mostly a recap, a little of whatever the White House gifts us with today, and an interview with the most camera worthy and articulate marine I can have in the studio in the next hour? That way you guys have an interview to record, some recap filler for you, Will, then we have the tech team splice everything else together and everybody goes the hell home and hits the sack.”

“We were actually thinking along those lines right before you got here,” she says, relieved she doesn't have to fight her corner today, she's too tired and her brain has enough to try to process without having to try to charm Charlie too. She tucks her hair behind her ear and looks at Will. “And I don't about you, but going home to bed sounds so good to me right now.”

“I honestly can't think of anything I'd like more.” Will's voice is low and she swears her heart actually skips a beat in response.

“Good, then that's that,” Charlie says with a grin. “Control room then, I want to see the final ten minutes of last night's show.”

“Now?” she asks, watching as Charlie nods his confirmation and turns to the door.

“Well, are we going?” Charlie reaches the door and seems to realise neither she nor Will has followed. “The whole point of this is to get a show for tonight in the bag as soon as we can so you and your team of zombies can get the fuck out of here, and we can't do that standing in here gawping at each other.”

She moves to follow him because he's right, the sooner they can pull a show together the sooner everyone gets to go home and sleep. Or, as far as she and Will are concerned, _not_ sleep...or at least not right away. As she gets to the door, she feels Will's hand reach for hers, his fingers tangling with her own, and his thumb stroking gently across her skin before they walk out of the office and he breaks the contact.

In the control room, she can feel Will's impatience to be alone with her as much as she feels it in herself, in every word he speaks, every look he gives her as they go through last night's footage, figuring out what they should use again, what can be embellished, and how much time they need to spend actually filming new material. The three of them agree on most of the decisions, and the disagreements are easily ironed out, mainly because they're all tired and have limited patience to fight. Charlie's phone rings and she and Will carry on working out a loose script while he takes the call, their shoulders brushing more than usual, their faces closer together, the anticipation building for something she's been waiting for – _hoping_ for – for such a long time. She's so lost in her thoughts and in the overwhelming presence of him being with her, actually _with_ her, that it takes a few seconds to realise Charlie's call is over and he's talking to them.

“Sorry, Charlie, I...zoned out there for a second,” she says, smiling sheepishly at him. “Do you have a guest?”

“Sure do, and he can be here in an hour, so if you can prep your team, do whatever you need to do...” He pauses, glancing at Will, who suddenly looks more exhausted than he did an hour ago. “And get this one into a suit and fuck load of make-up, we're looking good to go. I, meanwhile, am heading back to my office to drink my body weight in coffee.”

“Coffee, sure,” Will says, shaking his head, a shadow of a smirk on his face. “Who's the guest?” “Ah, yeah, a marine, served in Afghanistan, good guy, by all accounts, done some stuff on camera before so should be fine,” Charlie says, looking at her, realisation dawning in his eyes. “Actually, Mac, you might know him, or of him. Steve Penton, he's in-”

“24th MEU, I know him. Jim does too. We spent a lot of time with the 24th in Garmsir right before they went in,” she says, picturing the operation so clearly, remembering how the marines were reluctant to have her and her crew along at first and how she pushed for it because she knew it was an operation that would be key, and she was right, it won her a damn Peabody. “You're right, he is a good guy, and he's completely comfortable on camera. Nice call, Charlie, thanks.”

“Well, I'll leave you two to do what you need to do here.” Charlie smiles and heads for the control room door. “You know where I am if you need me.”

“So...” She watches as the door shuts and Charlie heads down the hallway before turning back to Will, smiling and stepping closer. “The boss says we can go home to bed.”

“Mmm, I heard that,” he says, sliding his hand slowly down her arm and tangling his fingers in hers.

“Did you also hear that we have a show to put together and a guest to prep for interview first?” She sighs, thankful they have Charlie's okay to coast a little through tonight's show, but aware it's going to take a level of patience she isn't sure she has to get through it when all she wants to do is drag Will home and into bed.

“Yeah, I know, but we have time.” He pushes her hair behind her ear and she sighs, basking in the feel of his fingers against her skin, the touch she missed so much. “Anyway, I'm tired but I don't think I'm wrong in thinking we were midway through a pretty big conversation when Charlie showed up.”

“Yeah, we were,” she says smiling as once again the enormity of it all hits her. “I love you, you love me...”

“I do,” he says, his voice low again as he glances quickly towards the door. “I really do.”

“Do you remember the first time you kissed me?” she asks, remembering every detail...how his eyes widened when she leaned in and whispered into his ear, how he grabbed her hand and before she knew it they were in a dark, quiet corner, his hands in her hair and his lips on hers. She doesn't wait for an answer. “Do it again.”

“In here?” He looks surprised and she laughs because she can't quite believe that since he left her a message at almosy five thirty this morning, they've talked about it, established that they're still stupidly in love, semi-planned tonight's show, but still haven't kissed.

“Right here. The rest of the team, if anyone has even struggled in yet, will be face down in coffee and definitely won't be wandering into the control room at nine fucking thirty.” She bites her lip and squeezes his hand. “And even if they do, does it matter? I mean, unless you don't want anyone to know, or-”

“Fuck that, Mac.” He stops her, his tone firm, his eyes fixed on hers as he starts to move the two of them towards the wall. “I want _everyone_ to know.”

She can't help the smile that moves onto her lips at his words, and she says nothing, doesn't feel the need to, instead she lets him steer her around the sound desk, pausing as he pushes a chair out of their way before they reach the wall, just out of sight of the door should anyone walk by. His hands move to her face and his thumbs caress her cheekbones as he gazes at her, his pale blue eyes, dark in the dimness of the room, completely focused on her. There's a fluttering deep within her abdomen; excitement, nerves, anticipation, a tinge of relief, of happiness. She feels his hands slide into her hair and she reaches for him, winding her arms around his neck as his lips meet hers, soft and gentle at first, becoming more hungry, more needy as she returns the kiss and presses herself up against him. From the minute she met tall, blonde, blue-eyed Will McAvoy she loved his hair, the hair she's now running her fingers through and pulling on just slightly as their kiss deepens. He's always kissed her like his life depends on it, and she's sure it's this intensity that means nobody has, or ever could, make her feel the way he does, like she's the only person in the universe. It overwhelmed her once to the point she ran, now it overwhelms her to the point she never wants to leave.

When he pulls away she feels herself let out a whimper of protest, silenced by his lips moving down her neck and his hand clumsily tugging her shirt out from her skirt so he can run his fingers across her skin. Her nails scrape the back of his neck and his hand moves higher under her shirt, the touch of his fingers warm on her back, his lips hot against her neck.

“I've wanted to do this since the minute you walked through the door a year ago,” he murmurs against her, tickling her neck with his words.

“I wish you had.” She thinks about that day, how she was so nervous she thought she might throw up, so medicated she's amazed she didn't, yet she somehow managed to act like she was totally fine, like seeing him standing in front of her barely fazed her at all. “It would have been quite a different welcome from the one I got.”

“I know...” He pauses and she feels his lips move from her neck as he lifts his head to look at her and she knows what's coming. “If I'd just been...I was just so...I didn't know Charlie had hired you, I had no idea that walking into the newsroom and seeing you standing there would just about stop my fucking heart all over again, and I was-”

“I don't know if you know this, but I only found out a few minutes before you arrived that Charlie hadn't told you he'd given me the job, and I don't know if I...no, I _would_ have still taken it, I just would have...well, maybe I'd have handled things differently somehow, hidden under a desk or something, I don't know.” She knows he was completely blindsided, and she remembers kicking herself for making the assumption Charlie had told him she was his new EP when it suddenly became horribly clear he hadn't. “You hated me for what I'd done, I know that, and you were-”

“I didn't hate you, Mackenzie, I've never hated you.” He reaches for her hand and brings it to his lips, kissing her fingers, his eyes never leaving hers. “I was angry, sure, with you and with myself...for letting you walk away-”

“I hardly walked away, Will.” She's not mad at him, but she needs to make it clear that leaving was the last thing she wanted to do. “You called me a cab, threw me out and showed up at my door the next morning with a suitcase full of my things, and then for the next three years you ignored every single message I sent. Three fucking years of emails, calls, letters-”

“I know, I know that one was on me.” He leans in and kisses her, his hand squeezing hers as he pulls back. “I pushed you out of my life and spent the next three years angry with myself for it, and fucking _furious_ with you for running into a war zone, and then one day I walk in and there you are. I didn't think I'd ever see you again and suddenly you were standing right in front of me looking as fucking beautiful as ever, and it just...it blew my mind.”

“We have stuff to talk about, I know that, and we will...but for now I need you to answer something.” She bites her lip and watches as he nods for her to continue. “I know you love me, I'm not doubting that, but I need to know it's more than that.”

“More than me being totally, completely in love with you, always have been, always will be?” he asks, frowning slightly despite his sweet words. “More than that?”

“As much as I love hearing that, and I really do, I need to know you trust me, I need to know you've forgiven me, because I can't...” She has to pause to take a breath because if she isn't sure she's forgiven, as much as it would break her heart to walk away, the tightening in her chest is telling her that all the love in the world may not be enough. “I know I hurt you, I know I did a terrible thing and it's the biggest regret of my life, it really is, so if that's still something, if you...I think what I'm trying to say is if you're hoping that loving me will eventually mean you might be able to forgive me then I don't know if this is going to work, no matter how much both of us want it to.”

“Can I do something, just in case anyone shows up and interrupts us again?” His frown lifts slightly and she nods.

He doesn't say anything, he just takes her hand and rests it on his chest, over his heart, covers it with his own and leans in to kiss her again. It's gentle, slow, and it feels like he's answering her question, or at least starting to. She relaxes a little and when he pulls his lips from hers she looks up at him and waits for what he has to say.

“You know I've been going to therapy again, right?” he asks.

“Know? I'm fairly sure I've been instrumental in making sure Lonny gets you to your appointments on time,” she says, smiling at him.

“I wondered why he was so keen on me making it to those appointments, I figured he thought maybe I'd be less of an ass if I stayed in therapy. It makes way more sense he'd be doing it because he has a crush on you.” He rolls his eyes and she smiles a little wider. “Figures.”

“Well, that's quite possibly true,” she says. “But anyway, yes, I know you've been going to therapy.”

“He's pretty good, the new Habib. You know, for a twelve-year-old.” He shrugs and she says nothing, wanting him to tell her whatever he needs to in his own time. “We've done some talking about you, and a lot about...other stuff.”

“Your dad?” She doesn't want to push but she knows how bad his childhood was and how he's never really dealt with it in the way he probably should have. “Look, we don't have to talk about this right now, I just wanted-”

“No, you're right, you should know,” he says, taking both of her hands in his, his touch providing the instant comfort it always has. “Do you know what Martin Luther King said about forgiveness?”

“I don't think so.” She leans back against the wall, suddenly exhausted all over again.

“I can't claim to know the speech word for word, but it went something like 'forgiveness doesn't mean ignoring what has been done, it means it no longer remains as a barrier to the relationship. Forgiveness is a catalyst creating the atmosphere necessary for a fresh start and a new beginning.'” He pauses, the look on his face suggesting he has more to say, so she's surprised when a wry smile crosses his face. “Not that I'm saying what you did was up there with almost sixty years of racial segregation.”

“Good to know.” She returns his smile but pushes on, needing to hear him say it. “You know, if you wanted to summarise on behalf of yourself and Martin Luther King, I wouldn't object. We do have a show to record, and it would be nice to know if we're going home together when we're done.”

“We're going home together,” he says, quickly and with absolute certainty. “When I first saw Habib I think I expected he might, I don't know, give me a quick fix, I guess? Of course he didn't, he just gave me something to help me sleep, which of course didn't fucking work, so I still lay there every night, wide awake, wondering why the fuck I couldn't just forgive you, and then last night, at the party, I looked at you across the room and I realised you're always the one I want to see when I look across the room, _every_ room, and then last night's show...Jesus, Mac, last night's show, you were amazing-”

“I've been downgraded from spectacular already?” She pouts, not meaning to interrupt him but apparently unable to resist teasing him, now he seems to have put her fears to rest.

“Do you want me to finish?” He raises an eyebrow and she nods, dropping the pout and smiling at him. “Alright, so you were _spectacular_ last night, and then you made the driver go about a million blocks out of the way to take me home, you watched me stumble into my building like a confused frat boy, and I sat down, I had another drink and that was it, like an epiphany of sorts, I guess, I just knew. I trust you more than anyone, you're the only person I'll ever love, and I realised that the forgiveness just comes with that. You made a mistake, and you went into a war zone and could have died, Mackenzie, you could have fucking _died_ , and I would never have had the chance to-”

“It's okay, I know...I know.” She steps forward, pressing herself against his chest, feeling his arms move to wrap around her, closing her eyes and wondering for just a second if anyone would notice if she napped right here for a couple of hours.

“Mac, Charlie said to let you know that...” A voice cuts through the silence and she lifts her head reluctantly from the comfort of Will's chest to see a wide-eyed Jim in the doorway, his phone in one hand, a stack of paperwork in the other. “Um, shit, sorry, I, um-”

“To let me know what?” She blinks at him, trying to rouse herself back into the moment. “Oh, um, yeah, Steve's on his way, should be here in about ten minutes. I mean, I know him, obviously, so I can totally, if you need to...” Jim falters and as tempted as she is to let him squirm a little longer she decides to put him out of his current misery.

“Thanks, Jim. Could you maybe get him into hair and make-up and I'll be right there to start prepping him?” She watches as he nods and almost runs from the room.

“Steve?” Will asks, his face showing no recognition at all.

“Steve Penton, the marine you're going to interview,” she says, pushing her hands through her hair, attempting to rearrange it into some kind of respectable state. “We need to get you into a suit, get you into make-up. I can start to prep him, we can make any last minute changes and we can get this show in the can.”

“Sounds good,” he says, smirking slightly and reaching for her again. “But...Jim said we have a little time, right?”

“Ten minutes.” She smiles and slides her arms around him. “Enough for you?” 

“It's enough,” he says, leaning in, his lips brushing hers. “For now.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Definitely.” As though she can read what's racing through his mind, she slides her hand into his and runs her thumb across his skin. “So...your place or mine?”_
> 
> _“Well...unless you're happy to have Lonny standing guard outside your door, it's going to have to be mine,” he says, shuddering at the thought of anyone standing outside the door while they start to catch up on the four years they've missed._

He hears her voice as he approaches the hair and make-up room, then a voice he guesses belongs to Steve Penton, followed again by Mackenzie's laugh, the laugh he loves, the one he realises he hasn't heard in such a long time that hearing it now startles him a little. Not meaning to eavesdrop, he nevertheless comes to a stop outside the door and listens, mostly because he knows her time overseas is something they're going to need to talk about and he has a feeling it was much, much worse than she's been inclined to let him believe. Fuck though, he really hopes it wasn't as bad as the nightmares he has about it. He hears her say she's doing fine, and then he hears Steve's voice in response.

“Are you really?” There's a pause before he continues. “I mean, shit, it's none of my business, feel free to tell me to shut the hell up, but...I have a tendency to say I'm doing fine too, mostly because it's the easier answer, you know?”

“I know.” Mackenzie's voice is slightly lower, he can only just hear what she's saying. “I'm not denying things were pretty rough for a while, quite a long while, actually, but I'm good now, really. The scar's healing really well, I'm seeing someone – a therapist, and I sometimes go three or four whole nights without waking up screaming which, to anyone else probably sounds horrific, but to me is more progress than I could have imagined a year ago.”

“Yeah, I get that, and I don't know if it helps at all, but...” He hears Steve sigh, but then he goes on. “You and your team did some really good work over there, Mac, really important work, you know? People needed to see how it really was, and I don't think any other crew came close to doing that in the way you did, so I...I hope you're proud of that. You should be.”

“How are you doing? You guys saw so much more than we ever could have imagined.” He can hear the concern in Mackenzie's voice, even as he can barely focus on anything beyond what she just said about her nightmares and her therapy, and the scar he selfishly chose not to think about, because if he didn't think about it, he could convince himself the stabbing never happened, that she just came back home because her contract was up. Jesus, he's an asshole, and he has a lot of making up to do, starting as soon as they get out of here and back to his place.

“Replace the knife wound scar with shrapnel wounds, and I'm doing about as well as you are, I guess.” Steve's tone is matter of fact before he pauses slightly. “But yeah, I'm seeing someone too...it's helping, some. It's all we can do, right?”

He suddenly feels bad for loitering in the hall like some kind of weirdo, so he clears his throat and walks into the room, watching as Mackenzie turns to him, not missing the way her gaze sweeps down the length of his body, before her eyes meet his and she smiles.

“Will, this is Steve,” she says, gesturing in the other man's direction. “Steve Penton, Will McAvoy.”

“Good to meet you.” He steps forward and shakes Steve's hand, noting the physique that has military written all over it, the strong handshake, the friendly smile, and he's inordinately proud of himself for feeling not even a prickle of jealousy. The look Mackenzie gave him as he walked in has a lot to do with it, but he knows too that the conversation they just had about trust and forgiveness is playing its part. “Thanks for doing this.”

“Great to meet you too, and no problem, I'm glad to do it,” Steve says, his smile widening. “Not to mention you're my wife's favourite news anchor, she'd have gone nuts if I'd said no.”

“I've prepped Steve on what we've got scripted in terms of questions, but of course we have the advantage of this being a recorded interview rather than a live one, so if we need to throw anything extra in or stop for any reason, it's fine.” Mackenzie moves to stand in front of him, reaching up to flatten down a stray, stubborn piece of hair. “God, we're going to need to make you up like you're about to pull a shift at the Moulin Rouge, you look fucking exhausted.”

“I know.” He sighs, aware that he's unlikely to look his best for tonight's show, and slightly irritated that she looks only the tiniest bit tired...until he remembers she wasn't the one who was completely baked last night. The fact that she's fucking beautiful can't hurt either. ”You had barely any sleep either, how the hell do you look so good?”

“Lighting?” she asks, smirking.

“These lights?” He looks up, pointing at the unforgiving strip lights above them. “The exact same ones I'm standing under right now?”

“Oh yeah...” She shrugs, grinning at him. “Then I really don't know...good genes?”

“Well, your mom looks a solid ten, maybe fifteen years younger than she is,” he says, aware that Steve is sitting in the make-up chair quietly observing the two of them. “So yeah, I think we can definitely put it down to good genes.”

“God, never tell her that,” she says with a laugh. “We'll never hear the end of it.”

He's impressed with Steve, the prep doesn't faze him, and by the time they're both seated at the anchor desk, where Mackenzie is filling him in on the final changes to the script, his hopes are high for a quick, smooth interview. Mackenzie stands up to let him take his seat but a frown appears on her face and she leans forward, her hands reaching for his tie, her fingers adjusting it, straightening it, her eyes on his the whole time.

“That's better.” She smiles and turns to Steve. “You good to go?” 

“I think so, yeah.” Steve nods.

He was right to feel hopeful, it's a good interview, Steve is confident, likeable, and most importantly, he knows his stuff, his credentials in the field beyond compare. He talks a little about the marine ops he was involved in, and gives some insight into what the teams go through, insight that will work perfectly with the footage they plan to rerun from last night's show.

“Billy, could you hang fire on the wrap-up for just a second? We're checking the sound on that last segment, Joey thought there might be an issue with the levels.” Mackenzie's voice cuts in and he nods, smiling into the camera, before turning to Steve to keep him in the loop.

“Almost there,” he says. “They think there's a problem with the sound, Mac's checking it now. Should just take a couple of minutes.”

“Sure, no problem,” Steve says, taking a curious look around the studio before turning his attention back to Will. “So, this isn't usual, recording in the morning? I mean, I'm guessing everything's live for you, as a rule?”

“Yeah, totally,” he answers, reaching for his pen as it starts to roll across the desk, pulling it back. “We record some stuff ahead of time if we need to, but yeah, mostly it's live.”

“Being on air every night can't give the two of you much time for a social life,” Steve says, pausing and frowning faintly. “Although I guess it's easier to get a table for dinner at ten at night. Not that Will McAvoy and Mackenzie McHale probably have too much of a problem getting a table at any time, I'm guessing.”

“No, well...” He isn't sure how to answer because Steve's right, being Will McAvoy does make it easier to snag a table, no matter what time, and no, he and Mackenzie probably won't have much of a social life, but until today it's been a long time since they've tried to have one together. “I mean, we don't, we're not-”

“Shit, sorry, I just thought you guys were together..” Steve pauses, his embarrassment clear. “It seemed that way, earlier, in the make-up room with the two of you, I-”

“No, no, you're right, we are.” He cuts in, feeling bad for Steve's embarrassment and wondering how obvious the two of them are if Steve picked up on it so easily. “We're-”

“Alright, we're all good, the sound is fine, so if you're good go we can get this wrapped up.” Again, Mackenzie's voice in his ear, the relief in her tone palpable as she unwittingly saves him from further babbling.

“Copy that,” he says, looking into the camera and smiling before turning to Steve. “Seems like our control room geniuses have figured out the sound issues, so we can wrap, if you're all set?”

“Sure, ready when you are,” Steve says with a nod.

“”We're good, Mac,” he says, itching to finish so they can get out of here. Now they're almost done, the finish line feels like it's in sight and he wants nothing more than to find a corner, kiss the hell out of her one more time, and go home.

“Okay.” He hears her weary sigh and he looks up at the camera, giving her a look that he hopes tells her to hang on, they're so close to being done. “Let's nail this, Will.”

*

“Do you need me to stick around a while and finish anything up?” Jim hangs back after the rest of the team practically runs from the room, excited for their unexpected time off. “I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining about catching up on some sleep, but if there's anything-”

“”Go home, Jim,” Mackenzie says, stopping him with a smile. “Seriously, it's what Will and I are about to do, and it's what everyone else is doing already – I don't know if you've noticed but it's like a military level mass evacuation on the other side of this door.”

“Alright then, if you're sure,” Jim says, picking up his phone and heading out the door. “See you tomorrow.”

“You know, if we can put a show together by mid-afternoon, why do we show up and do it live every night?” He's not serious, he knows she derives the same rush from doing live TV as he does, but considering it's not quite two in the afternoon and they're done for the day it feels like a valid question.

“I could give you a long list of answers to that question, as well you know,” she says, picking up her folder from the table and smiling at him. “But I'm too tired right now to put them in the order of importance they deserve, so I'm just going to say 'because there is no thrill like that of live news', and leave it there.”

“You ready to get out of here?” he asks, suddenly fearing that she may breeze out with a wave and a 'see you in the morning', a fear he knows is irrational.

“Definitely.” As though she can read what's racing through his mind, she slides her hand into his and runs her thumb across his skin. “So...your place or mine?”

“Well...unless you're happy to have Lonny standing guard outside your door, it's going to have to be mine,” he says, shuddering at the thought of _anyone_ standing outside the door while they start to catch up on the four years they've missed.

“Good point,” she says,squeezing his fingers before she drops his hand and reaches to grab her phone from where it still sits on the table. “Wait, what happens at your place though? Does he live on your couch?”

“Fuck no! My place has security clearance, the doormen have all been briefed, and I guess Lonny or one of his guys is stationed somewhere in the vicinity of the building in case some nut job tries to make his way in.” He shrugs, realising he doesn't really know the finer details, but unsurprised that his incredibly thorough Mackenzie would want to. “Did you want to swing by your place?  
Pick up some clothes or whatever for tomorrow...I mean, only if you want to stay tonight, obviously, you don't have to feel like-”

“Billy.” She stops him, humour in her eyes as she smiles up at him. “I'm _staying_ , so yeah, dropping by by my place first would be good.”

They're stepping out of the elevator when she stops suddenly and turns to him, stepping closer and glancing briefly at Lonny before she speaks, keeping her voice low when she does.

“Wait, did you only ask me to come home with you so I can help clear up after last night's party?” Her eyes are wide and he can't help the laugh that bubbles up out of him as he sees the expression of mock horror on her face.

“You'll be glad to hear someone was going in this morning to magic that fucking mess all gone.”

He leans in, feeling her shiver slightly as his lips brush her ear. “Besides, the party didn't make it to the bedroom...yet.”

They head to her apartment first, Lonny managing to do little more than raise an eyebrow before starting the car, and she gets out, promising she'll be five minutes, no more. He manages to make a decent show of being busy with his phone for a minute or so, avoiding Lonny's gaze in the mirror, but it makes no difference, it seems there's no way Lonny is staying silent on this development.

“Will Ms McHale be needing a ride back here later?” he asks, again raising an eyebrow when Will does look at him in the mirror. “Just let me know and I can get one of the guys right on it. All part of the service.”

“You'll be picking us both up for work from my place in the morning.” He matches Lonny's raised brow with his own. “That's all you need to know.”

“I know you're familiar with the rules by now, but a reminder that if the two of you decide to head out this evening you need to call me first,” Lonny says, turning to him.

“We're not going out tonight,” he says, certain he and Mackenzie will be unlikely to leave his bedroom, let alone his apartment, other than to eat at some point. “But if we were going to, I may as well break it to you now that you're not invited. No offence, but-”

“Hey, I get it, man.” Lonny shrugs, a smirk on his face. “If I'd finally pulled my head out of my ass and won my smart and beautiful ex-girlfriend back, I'd want her all to myself too.”

He's figuring out a suitably appropriate response when the door opens and Mackenzie climbs back into the car, an overnight bag in her hand that she puts on the floor beside her feet before she slides her hand to rest on his knee.

“Thank you, Lonny.” She gives Lonny a sweet smile and he nods before turning away and starting the car.

He covers her hand with his own and feels her head come to rest against him and, not for the first time, he wonders what the fuck he was thinking spending so long punishing her (and by extension himself) when this is what he could have had instead. He can't help wondering how much sooner this could have been his reality had he just gone back to therapy as soon as she arrived at ACN, instead of employing the 'fuck every woman in New York and make sure Mackenzie knows you're doing it' method for all those months. It's on the tip of his tongue to apologise to her right now for all of his shitty behaviour but then he remembers Lonny is in the car with them so he bites back the urge.

“You okay?” She's looking at him, frowning, a look of concern in her eyes. “Lost you there for a second.”

“Yeah, I'm good.” He shakes himself out of his thoughts and runs a thumb gently across her cheek, smiling when she lets her eyes slide shut for just a fraction of a second. “How are you holding up?”

“Nothing some food and a nap won't fix.” She glances towards the front seat, biting her lip and leaning closer. “Amongst other things.”

He tries to ignore the smirk on Lonny's face as they arrive at his place and head out of the car, a smirk that changes to a grin when Mackenzie smiles at him and wishes him a good evening as he opens the door for her. Making a mental note to send Lonny out to collect take out for them later tonight, just because he can, he follows Mackenzie out of the car, taking her hand as they head into his building.

As promised, his apartment shows no trace of the party, and a quick glimpse inside the fridge reveals enough carefully wrapped leftovers to render his plan for Lonny's take out run unnecessary. He notices last night's cookies on the counter too and he turns to Mackenzie, pointing at the plate, watching as she shakes her head.

“Do not even think about it,” she says, stepping closer to him, looking at the plate and frowning. “Jesus, was I the only one _not_ wasted last night? There are, like, three cookies left here.”

“Maybe not the only one,” he says, as if he would have a clue who else was hitting those cookies last night. “I'm pretty sure Charlie was sticking strictly to alcohol.”

“Which is exactly what we're going to do tonight.” She steps away from him, just as far as the living room, where she stops and looks around. He realises she's checking out his place now it's empty of people, taking in the furniture, the high windows, the décor (or lack of, given he never really got around to giving a shit about anything other than the basics he needed to function). “It's a nice place. I mean, it's a little...clinical, but it's nice.”

“Clinical?” He quirks an eyebrow and watches as she shrugs and walks over to him, waiting for her follow up.

“Yeah, you know, a lot of...” She pauses, looks around again and then turns back to him. “Corners, I guess, and...not much colour. Unless you're about to wow me with red satin sheets.”

“Dammit, there goes that little secret.” He grins because she knows damn well he'd sleep on the floor before he'd opt for red satin. “So...”

“So, yourself...” She bites her lip and he takes her hand, amazed all over again that she's here, and that it's because he finally got over himself and told her how he felt, even if it did take some herbal courage to get him there.

“How much do you need to sleep right now?” he asks, knowing they both got no more than a couple of hours last night, also knowing he can dig deep for a little longer if it means he gets to have her naked in his bed first.

“I haven't slept more than four hours a night in...years,” she says, her tone light but her words sending a fresh jolt of guilt shooting through him, the reality of the last four years kicking in once again. “So I can totally hold out if you have something else in mind...I mean, if you want to eat or watch a movie, or-”

He cuts her off, his hand cupping her face and his lips covering hers, because even though he knows she's joking he needs her to know that he can't wait another damn minute to start showing her how much he missed her and how sorry he is for not coming to his senses sooner.

“I was kidding,” she murmurs, smiling against his lips.

“I know.” He pulls back, takes hold of her hand, and starts to head towards the bedroom, pausing when she stops to pick up her bag.

In the bedroom she drops her bag and once again starts to look around the room, her Mackenzie brain doing its Mackenzie thing of cataloguing everything, like she's about to file a report. He's happy to wait, to watch as she moves over to the windows and takes in the view for the briefest of moments before she turns back to face him, a smile on her face as she pushes her hair behind her ear.

“You know, if you want me to give you a full tour of the place...” He glances around the bedroom, gesturing vaguely with his hand.

“Well, you walked me through the kitchen and living room already, and I'm guessing...” She points across the room over his shoulder as she continues. “Bathroom?”

“Yup.” He nods as she starts to walk towards him, kicking her shoes off right in the middle of the room, just as she always used to.

“Then I think we've got it covered.” She stops in front of him and squeezes his hand. “I'll be right back.”

She walks past him and he lets out a breath, knowing that when she gets out of the bathroom he's going to get to touch her in the ways he's missed touching her since the day he refused to look at her as she begged him to listen. He pulls his sweater off over his head and drops it onto the chair in the corner of the room, kicking his shoes under the chair and reaching for hers, putting them beside his. It wouldn't be the first time, but the last fucking thing he wants today is to incapacitate himself by falling over her Louboutins.

He doesn't quite know what to do with himself and he feels strangely awkward, which is insane given he's standing in his own bedroom. He opts for sitting down on the bed, trying to look casual, even though there's nothing casual about the churning anticipation in his stomach as he waits for her to reappear. A sudden thought, panic almost, drives him to open the drawer beside the bed because he obviously has no idea of Mackenzie's situation, he doesn't want to make assumptions, and he sure as shit doesn't want to have to send Lonny for condoms. Relief runs through him as he spots the box at the back of the drawer, unopened because after the last couple of unbelievably bad dating decisions he swore off it and hurtled back into therapy instead...God, he can only imagine the smug look on Habib's face at his next appointment.

He's pulled back from his thoughts when he hears her walk back into the room, and when he looks up he sees her standing at the foot of the bed, the look on her face one of purpose, a little at odds with the slight shake in her hands as she smooths down her skirt.

“You okay?” he asks, watching as she nods and walks over to sit beside him on the bed.

“I'm just...” She pauses and he hears her breath catch as his fingers brush her cheekbone. “Nothing, doesn't matter.”

“You're just?” He smiles at her, relieved by the smile she gives him in return. “Overwhelmed, nervous, wondering what the fuck happened to make me finally come to my senses?”

“I think we covered that part earlier,” she says, relaxing into his touch as his fingers run gently through her hair. “I'm not questioning you. I'm not questioning any of this. It's just...before this morning I was sure you hadn't even given me a second thought in all the time I was gone, not until I showed up a year ago and turned everything upside down so it's, you know, it's...nuts.”

“In a good way?” He's pretty sure it's a yes, but he doesn't want to rush her if her mind is totally blown, no matter how much he's craving the taste, the feel, the sound of her under him.

“Mmm-hmm.” She leans in and kisses him. It's slow and gentle and her hand slides onto his leg, moving up his thigh as if to confirm her answer.

He moves his hand from her hair and down her neck, trailing his thumb slowly across her skin, inside her shirt, over her collarbone and to her shoulder as he feels her hand slide around the back of his neck. When she scratches her nails lightly through his hair he feels a shudder run through him and an instant tightening in his groin because, fuck, she always did this and it always had the same effect on him. So much of his brain screams at him to kick off his jeans, push up her skirt and just bury himself deep inside her, but what he wants more is to take it slow and savour everything about her. He doesn't know how he's survived so long without her in his bed, without her in his _life_ as anything more than his most trusted colleague.

Her hand lifts from his thigh and she pulls back, her lips curving into a smile as he mourns the loss of them on his. Her eyes are big and dark, and there's a tiny, endearing smudge of make-up high on her cheekbone, which he's tempted to reach for it, to swipe it away, but doesn't. He reaches instead for the buttons on her shirt, managing to undo the first one, then the second, but fumbling over the third, the glimpse of the black lace of her bra turning his brain to mush and rendering his fingers almost useless. Her hand pushes his away and he's beyond grateful because there's slow and then there's ridiculous and he fears he was close to moving into the latter territory. She finishes her buttons and moves to start on his, leaving him with nothing to do but admire the sight of her in front of him, her shirt open and a faint flush colouring her chest.

His shirt off and thrown to the floor, she stands up, drops hers too, and moves to stand between his legs. His eyes and his brain are working overtime as he tries to take it in, the sight of her in her pencil skirt and black lace bra, her hands on his shoulders, his jeans straining against the effect she's having on him even while they're both still partially clothed. Reaching forward he unzips her skirt and watches as she steps out of it and kicks it aside, her eyes on his the whole time. He's the first to break eye contact because he can't fight the urge a second longer to look at her, to _really_ look at her, starting with the pink of her cheeks, moving to her chest, the tiniest glimpse of a nipple through the lace of her bra, and down to her soft, pale, flat stomach which sits tantalisingly at eye level. He slides a finger along the top of her panties and the grip she has on his shoulders tightens, a faint sigh accompanying it as his fingertip teases the soft skin of her abdomen. When he leans closer and runs his tongue from her panties to her bellybutton, her hands move and her fingers weave through his hair, tugging tighter with every stroke of his tongue.

She tenses slightly and he's confused, but just as he's about to glance up and question it, the skin under his lips feels different and he realises it's her scar. The scar he of course knew existed but hadn't really considered as a reality, mostly because there's so much of his guilt wrapped up in what happened to her that he pushed the thought of it away as much as he could. He pulls back and looks up at her, needing to see her face, reassured when he sees that although she's biting her lip, the look in her eyes is one of expectation rather than fear. He has a feeling, even though it's his first instinct, that if he even dares to apologise she might walk out of the room and only a serious amount of persuasion will get her back in. So he keeps his eyes firmly fixed on hers and runs his fingers slowly and tenderly over the scar, only looking away from her to press his lips against it.

When he glances back up at her, she's smiling and he knows it's okay. He also knows that what he needs now is to taste her...holy shit, he's missed how she tastes, he's missed losing himself in her the way he used to. Wasting no more time, he smirks up at her and drags her panties slowly down her legs. One hand on her hip and the other between her legs, he hears her long, ragged sigh as his mouth moves to settle against her, his tongue moving slowly at first, too overwhelmed by her soft warmth to do much more than silently rejoice in where his face is right now. Her urgent tug on his hair snaps him back into action and he starts to move, licking, nibbling, sucking, his exact movements are foggy because all can hear are her soft moans above him, the sound he could listen to all damn day. When her moans get louder and she sways slightly, he grabs her ass to steady her and keeps doing exactly what he's doing. She reaches behind her to squeeze his hand and he knows she's close, she's so wet and he can feel her starting to squirm, craving release. It takes only a couple more strokes of his tongue for her to come and when she does he can't get enough of her murmuring his name as he feels her pulsing against him.

Licking his lips, he starts to pull her into his lap before realising that perching precariously on the edge of the bed with Mackenzie on top of him and his erection straining almost painfully against his jeans isn't going to work. He stands up instead, so quickly he has to grab her so he doesn't drop her on her ass...smooth.

“I think...” She reaches around and unclasps her bra, drops it to the floor and smiles at him. “Maybe you should take off your jeans.”

He's sure as hell not going to argue with that and his jeans are off in seconds, followed by his shorts and suddenly there they are, standing naked in front of each other. The evidence of how much he wants her is quite clear, and based on her response to his tongue a few minutes earlier he's confident she feels the same, and she proves it by pushing him to sit back down onto the bed. Her eyes move down his body and he feels himself harden even more under her gaze, scooting back on the bed as she indicates she's about to climb into his lap.

“To think you questioned for even a second whether we might stay awake for this...” She smirks and settles herself onto his thighs, moving her hands to rest on his chest.

“What can I say, my judgement may have been impaired by some killer cookies and a total lack of sleep last night,” he says with a shrug.

“Well, you're managing to cowboy up just fine,” she says, scraping her nails lightly down his chest and smiling at him, the smile that fucking melts him, the smile he used to try so hard to forget as he was trying in vain to hate her. “I'm impressed.”

“Oh, you will be.” He raises his eyebrows, grinning when she lets out a giggle.

She moves her hands up to his shoulders, leans in to kiss him, and pushes herself closer to him. He feels her hard nipples against his chest and he's so focused on her tongue sliding into his mouth that it takes him by surprise when her hand reaches between them and starts to slowly stroke him. Pushing his hand into her hair, he feels himself reaching the point where he needs to be inside her or it's not going to end the way either of them would want it to, so he reluctantly breaks the kiss, running his thumb across her cheekbone.

“Mac, I'm...” He covers her hand with his and sees with relief the instant realisation in her eyes.

“You're ready if I am?” There's a sparkle in her eyes and a flush in her cheeks and she's so damn beautiful he can't seem to speak, freshly bowled over by her being here in his lap, looking at him the way she is right now. “If I don't stop doing what I was just doing we're both going to end up disappointed?”

He manages a nod and she shifts slightly, and it's only then he remembers what he was rifling through his drawer for before they got this far, and as much as he hates to raise it he'd hate himself more if he didn't, so he grabs her hand and threads his fingers through hers, watching as her eyes widen and she raises her eyebrows.

“I don't know if you're...I mean, I don't want to assume anything, so...” He gestures towards the drawer, aware he sounds like a stuttering idiot, hoping she gives him an out which of course she doesn't because she's Mackenzie and there's nothing she enjoys more than watching him drown in his own awkwardness. “In the drawer, I have...you know, if we need anything, if you're not-”

“Good God, Will, are you fifteen? Just get to the point,” she says, grinning at his ineptitude. “Are you asking if we need a condom? Because that would largely depend on you, given that I've dated one person in the last four years whereas you've been quite busy on your mission to sleep with every woman in New York. From my point of view we're good to go, so you need to either tell me we're fine or just hurry the fuck up and get what you need out of that drawer.”

“Alright. Well, I was careful, absolutely one hundred fucking percent, so...” he says, leaning forward and kissing her, trying somehow to reinforce his words, needing her to know that none of that meant a damn thing, even though he feels guilty because he can admit now that his intention was to hurt her, not to find any kind of real relationship with anyone else.

“So?” She's impatient, he can hear it.

“We're good, Mac.” He tries to resist the urge to say anything more but he can't seem to stop the words making it from his brain to his tongue, apparently determined to be heard. “Look, about that, the dating, the women, you know none of it-”

“Are you at all aware that the last thing I want to hear about right now is your never-ending stream of women? I mean, seriously, I know it's been a while but I'm certain your pillow talk used to be much better than this.” She sighs and he kicks himself for how this has somehow spiralled into what feels like near disaster. “And actually, you don't have to justify it, as much as...look, you're a single guy, you can sleep with as many people as you want, and I-”

“Was.” He stops her, desperate to reverse this before it gets any worse, his hand moving to take hers, squeezing her fingers and running his thumb across her skin. “I _was_ a single guy. Past tense, Mackenzie.”

“I know.” She nods and returns the squeeze of his hand, acknowledging his words with a faint smile. “Don't get me wrong, I wasn't suggesting you kick me out in the morning and embark upon your quest all over again, I just...”

She stops talking, shrugs, and bites her lip slightly as she shifts again in his lap and takes him in her hand, starting to guide him slowly inside her, pausing to readjust before moving her hand to his shoulder and sliding all the way onto him.

He couldn't debate the morals of his dating decisions now if he even wanted to (which he doesn't) because he's completely consumed by the feel of finally being inside her, her hand gripping his shoulder, her eyes fixed firmly on his as she starts to move. His arms slide around her, his hands roaming from her ass up to her shoulder blades, her skin warm and familiar under his fingers. She leans back just slightly, the pale skin of her neck offered up to him proving impossible to resist, his lips acting almost independently of his brain, moving to taste her, her jawline, under her ear, down almost to her collarbone. His mind has clearly slipped right into cliché territory because all he can liken it to is taking the first drop of water after years in the desert. Or perhaps more accurately, finally drinking a Dr Pepper after four years of cheap imitations. Maybe he'll be able to articulate it better when she isn't in his lap, when he isn't so deep inside her that she's the only thing he can think about, but until then he's okay with living in cliché town.

It feels like they're moving in slow motion and he doesn't know if it's because they're both so tired or if they're simply trying to appreciate every second of being together like this again. Whatever the reason, he can tell by the sounds she's making that it's working for her just as it is for him. He scrapes his teeth down her neck, hard enough that she tightens her grip on his shoulder, and when he soothes it with his tongue, her moans get louder. She leans back even more, her hands moving to his thighs, and she knows the view she's giving him is everything he needs, he can tell by the look in her eyes. His hands trail up her sides, stroking her rib cage and moving slowly up her stomach until his thumbs reach needily for her nipples.

He feels her muscles tighten around him as her nipples peak under his touch and, combined with the way she's gazing at him, it almost sends him over the edge. The insuppressible groan that escapes his lips seems to spur her on and she grinds down on him harder and faster. He's not going to hold out for long, he knows that, so he focuses on her again, moving his hand down between them, his thumb moving in tiny circles.

“Holy shit, Billy, keep doing that.” She pushes the words out in between moans and when she smiles at him he's pretty fucking sure it's the sexiest thing he's ever seen.

“Wasn't planning...” Again she tenses her muscles around him and again he momentarily loses the ability to think, to speak. “On stopping.”

Considering she came hard under his tongue once already he's surprised when she digs her fingers hard into his thighs and lets out a shuddering breath of release, and he can't help but feel just a tiny bit proud of himself.

“Pleased with yourself?” His grin obviously concealed nothing and she laughs as he shrugs in response. “Alright, now it's your turn.”

Relieved when she lets go of his thighs (holy shit, she has some strength in those fingers), his eyes stay firmly fixed on hers as she shifts again, leaning forward and reaching for the headboard behind him. It means he now has her warm breath and soft moans in his ear and her nipples within his tongue's reach; holy shit, he's so, so about to be done. One hand moves from the headboard to the back of his neck and her fingers make their way into his hair.

“Jesus, Mac...” He takes her nipple into his mouth and that's it, the noise she makes is all he needs.

She murmurs his name and it's all over, he pulls her urgently against him, slides both hands down to cup her ass, and comes hard into her, a feeling of total and utter fucking bliss washing over him. Her hands run absently through his hair and he's content to just listen to her soft breathing in his ear, to keep stroking his fingers slowly across her lower back until she feels the need to move.

“Falling asleep like this isn't going to work, is it?” When she does eventually speak, her words are muffled against the side of his neck but he can hear the smile in her voice.

“We could give it the old college try...” He'd like nothing more than to stay right where they are, wrapped around each other, him still inside her.

“I've always loved your stubbornness.” She lifts her head and smiles at him, Her eyes are tired and there's no saving her make-up, but holy shit, she's beautiful.

“I prefer to think of it as determination,” he says, frowning as she moves to extract herself from his hold, even though he knows it's for practical reasons.

“If you say so.” She climbs carefully out of his lap and rolls onto the pillow beside him, turning to face him, her smile almost dazzling before it turns into a yawn. “Oh God, don't let me fall asleep before I make it to the bathroom...actually, screw it, make me go now and then we can sleep the shit out of the rest of this afternoon.”

“ _Make_ you go now?” He raises an eyebrow. “Mackenzie McHale, there's nobody in the world who can make you do anything, not even me.”

“So... _encourage_ me to go.” She runs her index finger slowly down his arm as she looks at him expectantly.

“Go to the bathroom, Mackenzie,” he says, too comfortable to come up with much more. “Helpful, thanks.” She rolls her eyes and still shows no signs of moving.

“Alright...” He takes her hand and tangles their fingers today, playing for time while he tries to kick his brain into thinking anything other than how fucking glad he is that he got wasted and left her a voicemail less than twelve hours earlier. “If you don't pee now, you'll start convincing yourself you have an infection. If you do get an infection, you'll feel like shit and we won't be able to have sex for _days_.”

“You have an interesting take on encouragement,” she says, raising their joined hands to her lips and kissing his fingers before sitting up. “But fine, you're right, I'm going.”

“I love you,” he says, as she slides her fingers from his and narrows her eyes.

“You're planning on being asleep in the time it takes me to get to the bathroom and back, aren't you?” She knows him so well he wonders why he even tries to fool her.

“I _really_ can't promise I won't be.” He closes the gap between them and kisses her, feeling her smile against his lips as she pulls away.

“It's a good thing I love you too.” She stands up and turns towards the bathroom, glancing back over her shoulder at him.

“It's the fucking best thing,” he says, and he glimpses her radiant smile before she turns and walks away. “The _best_.”


End file.
